


Prince Lockaway

by usedupshiver



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angry Sex, Hate Sex, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:13:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 16,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2042172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usedupshiver/pseuds/usedupshiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All is fair in love and war, but there sure is no love between prince Loki and Stark - even less so after the knight knocks the prince off his horse and he becomes a prisoner. Another war, that threatens to destroy them both, might just change that, though…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Red Knight

They did not think the bars of the window would be enough to keep him in the cell, so they had boarded the small window shut. When they closed the door behind him, leaving him alone in the room where they intended him to spend the remainder of his life, and he saw the shadowy darkness of it, it almost made him lose his mind.

No, but it _had_ made him lose his mind. In a quiet, inward way.

He had been unable to do anything but sit on the narrow bed, back against the stone wall and elbows on his knees, staring at the darkness. For a long time, the only light came from an opening in the heavy door, no larger than the palms of his hands. Then, as the afternoon sun shifted, a thin sliver of its golden light fell on the wall next to him.

Slowly, he placed a hand over the bright line on the gray stone, as if he could catch it. But, of course, the light only lit up the pale skin on the back of his hand instead. Made the web of blue veins under it show through.

In the years that followed, he learned the time of day the light found its way into his cell, and he always made sure to touch it. Let it fall across his face when he could. Remembering daylight.

He was a prisoner of war. Hostage. Too valuable to kill, being a prince of Asgard. Or so his captors had thought. They had been so sure his father would ransom him, empty his halls of gold and jewels if he had to, just to get his younger son back.

Had they but asked him, he could have told them they were wrong. But they found out soon enough.

Every night in that cell, he dreamt of the red knight who had put him there.

Of the enameled suit of armour, glinting in the harsh sunlight that blinded him. Of the sword being struck from his hand, a heavy, red gauntlet, the fall from his horse. Of the brown eyes that had been the last thing he had seen before the gauntlet came at him again.

When he woke up, his hands would ache with the desire to close around that man’s throat. He wanted to be the last thing those dark eyes saw, before they closed forever.

”Stark”, he would whisper to the sliver of light on his skin, seeing red and thinking of blood.

Dreaming of vengeance.

When he rode into battle, his name had been Loki.

Three years later, defeated and imprisoned by his enemies, abandoned and forgotten by his kin, they called him ”Prince Lockaway”.


	2. Monster

As the years passed the dream of vengeance never faded, but he slowly came to see that a dream was likely all it would ever be.

Loki had been a warrior. Knocked from his horse and defeated, yes, but still a warrior.

Lockaway, however, was not. All this time in a cell that would not even let him pace, had eaten away his strength. Still tall, shoulders broad and hips narrow, the way he was built, but so much thinner, and softer. The cloth of the green tunic draped loosely around his chest now. His hard, calloused hands turned soft, just like his arms. Skin that had always been pale was now white against the ever longer black hair.

He could do nothing but watch himself fade away. The man he had been, turned into a weak nothing.

Yet, deep inside of the prince Lockaway, there still burned the bright, green flame that was magic. The flame that had made his captors think they had to board his window shut. In this, as in so many other things, they were wrong, but he let them think he might turn himself into a bird and fly away. Sadly, he could not. Illusions and hiding in shadow could not change his true form. The bars would have been enough to keep him in.

The green flame in his chest was still a comfort, however. Unlike the rest of him, it did not fade and weaken. It was as strong as ever, a cold reassurance that he was still himself, at least in part.

Weak or strong did no difference at all as long as he was a prisoner, of course. If was possible that he would never lay eyes on the red knight again, much less his hands. But he never stopped dreaming, and the day he could hear a familiar voice outside the door of his cell he thought that he still was.

One long stride was enough to reach the door. By the opposite wall of the corridor, just to the left, he caught sight of the red enamel that haunted his every sleeping hour. The knight did not wear a helmet this day, showing dark hair, wellgroomed goatee, and a sharp profile. The dark eyes were watching something to Loki’s right, something too far away for the prisoner to see. Whatever it was, it was unimportant. He had no interest in anything but the knight.

At least, he thought so. Until a movement made him instinctively turn his gaze to the right, and he saw what the red knight had been watching.

Surrounded by four guards, burdened with heavy chains, a chitauri was led by his cell. As if it could feel his presence, or his stare, the creature turned its skeletal face on him and bared its teeth. Loki’s heart turned to lead in his chest, stopped cold, and for a moment the edges of the world grew darker.

When he was able to catch his breath, see clearly, the creature was out of sight. And from across the corridor, Stark was studying his face.

”What have you done?” Loki’s voice was full of gravel and rust, so long unused.

”Why, my sworn duty, prince Lockaway.” A smirk pulled at the man’s lips. ”You ought to know.”

”Do _not_ compare me to that thing!” Loki felt his hands tremble, and was suddenly glad for the door between them, hiding his reaction. ”I am no monster, Stark.”

The smile faded from the bearded face. ”Is that what you tell yourself?”

Rage made him speachless. He could only watch in seething silence as the knight turned and walked away.


	3. Gathering Storm

There was no doubt in Loki's mind about what would follow. He had seen wars start before, felt the tide rising. He knew, even when he was no longer a part of it.

And he knew, oh yes, he knew, that no-one could anger king Thanos unpunished. Not even his father had dared that risk. But Stark and his ilk had done what the king of Asgard would not, had invited horrors they could not possibly defend against.

Yet he was the one they called monster?

No!

_Curse that man! Curse him!_

For the first time since the cell had closed around him, Loki felt his lust for vengeance fade away, overpowered by fear. A real, chilling fear that made his dark, locked away years seem like nothing. He would cower in this damned hole of shadows for the rest of eternity if it could protect him from what was coming. But he knew, oh yes, he knew, that it could not, would not.

Loki, the warrior prince, would have donned his armour, taken his sword and died protecting what he believed in.

Prince Lockaway could do nothing but wait for the inevitable.

Even in his cell, he felt the coming of this storm. The only comfort was that he would not have to wait long for it to hit, and then this realm would burn, with him still locked in the dark heart of it. And if he was very, very lucky, burn was all he would do.


	4. Desperate Measures

The realm fell, and it fell both fast and hard.

Blind to the outside world as he was, Loki could still hear it come down around him. He might have taken some delight in that, knowing that his enemies were suffering, but fear overtook the gloating. Down here in this mostly quiet part of the castle, he waited, seeing nothing of the fighting he knew was taking place above his head.

Then, he heard voices outside his door. Once more, he recognized one of the voices as Stark's, the knight ordering the few guards still on duty up from the dungeons. To fight. Or to flee.

Loki moved to the door, to see the men glancing at each other. The last of the knight's words had apparently chilled them as much as it had the prince in his cell. Stark would never have uttered those words, had the battle not been already lost, and the guards knew this.

They did not waste any more time, before turning to run.

The knight noticed him then, and turned his bloodstained face towards the cell. He was pale under the dirt and spatter. The red enamel of his armour was reflecting the light.

Silently, they regarded each other, before the knight moved to walk away.

”STARK!” Loki hit the solid oak with his fist, pressing his forehead to the bars of the small opening in the door to glare at the knight, who actually flinched at the shout, turning back. ”You cannot leave me here! Not like this!”

They stared at each other in silence once more.

”I may be your enemy, but I was a warror. Just like you are. A warrior should not die like this, trapped like an animal!”

Loki could hear the creak of leather and metal as the knight curled his hands into fists.

”I am the reason you are in that cell. If I let you out, how do I know you will not use your newfound freedom to take vengeance?”

”What you and yours have done to me, Stark, is nothing compared to what _they_ will do if they get their hands on me. You open this door for me, and I...” He hesitated. Forgive, he could not. Nor forget. ”I will do anything in my power to get us both out of here, alive. And take my vengeance another day.”

Stark turned his head to stare down the corridor, perhaps listening to the distant shouts. A muscle flexed in the man's jaw as he clenched his teeth.

Loki swallowed, feeling the word rise like bile in his throat.

”Please.” It came out a growl. ”Please. I beg you.”

The dark eyes were back on him then. Loki could see the thoughts moving behind them, and hoped he had not misjudged the red knight. That he had not begged and humiliated himself for nothing. He knew Stark to be ruthless. Unrelenting. But also a man who faught with honor. A man who, above everything else, believed in the virtue of a fair fight.

Loki had grown up with a man just like that, and he knew fairness when he encountered it.

Even though he had never particularly shared the sentiment.

He saw the red armour heave with the man's sigh, and then Stark walked over to the door. With his fist and forehead still pressed to it, Loki could feel locks being opened and removed. When all movement ceased, he straighetend his back and just waited until the door was pulled open.


	5. A Promise Kept

As the door of his cell swung open, Loki felt chills rushing up his spine, into his hair, making him shudder just slightly. The hesitant look on the red knight's face held him back, and he was willing his tense body to keep still. One wrong move now, and the promise of freedom would be snatched away, before he had his only chance at it.

The men just held their positions for a moment, the open doorway between them, as if it had still been an obstacle.

Stark was in all things the same as he had been three years before. His helmet was off, perhaps lost in the battle, and even his face was the same. Slightly shorter than the prince, but he was stockier, and had been so even when Loki was much heavier. In the enameled suit of armour, the bright red colour striking even here in the shadows, he was truly formidable. It was, in all honesty, something Loki appreciated. Had a lesser man defeated him, his pride would never have mended.

As it was, it just might.

By the way the dark eyes traced the shape of him, seeing more than just Loki's face for the first time in all these years, the prince knew that he was not at all the same as he had been. At least the loosely draping folds of his tunic, falling to the middle of his thighs, were hiding the way his pants were hanging off his hips. The knight did not need to fully know the sorry state of him. Too long hair, pale face and soft, thin hands was enough, and more.

”Well, Stark?” He kept his voice softer. Knowing full well his appearance was far less threatening than the knight would have expected, he played along. 

The man stepped aside. He made no gesture, but it was not needed.

Loki took that one, slow stride out of the door. He could feel his back straighten, shoulders pulling back, chin rising. From his lips a quiet moan fell, unbidden, but he could feel no shame even at the obvious, unguarded pleasure in that sound. Instead he glanced at the man beside him.

”You would be wise to arm me”, he said. ”I know the foe we face. You will need me at your back.”

”That is out of the question, Lockaway. At my back, armed, is the last place I would have you. Now, move.”

The prince was unable to hold back a sneer at the name, but this was not the time to argue that. Or anything. Stark was right; they had to get out. And it would be no easy task. Loki knew this even before they had climbed the steep stairs into the castle.

Used to seeing nothing but stone walls and his bed, the chaos surrounding him now was completely overwhealming. Hardly a piece of furniture was still intact, curtains ripped, fallen bodies, and blood. Quantities of it that horrified even him. No battle had prepared him for the pools, puddles, streaks, splashes, spatters and stains of it. Everywhere.

It turned his stomach.

The only consolation was that they seemd to be the only living creatures in this part of the castle. Shouts, screams, the noises of battle could still be heard, at a distance, but there was nothing they could do. Only take advantage of the fact that the enemy was still distracted, and not waste this oppurtunity. It was bound not to last.

”This way.” 

The red knight led them through long, dark corridors, hidden away rooms, servant quarters and hallways. Anywhere there would be less plunder and victims to lure the enemy. And they got far on pure luck, far enough to almost reach one of the doors out of the castle, into the courtyard. But that was when their luck deserted them.

Behind them, Loki could hear the steps of many heavy feet, growling, inhuman voices. For a moment, they both came to a halt, glacing at each other. In the span of one fearful heartbeat, they were united, any and all animosity forgotten.

So when Loki saw Stark turn, presumably to run for the door, knowing it was all too far away for the man to reach in time, he did not let the knight try and fail. As he might have done, despite his promise in the cell. He would have promised anything to have that door opened, and he was sure Stark had been fully aware of that as well, but this short, fleeting moment of unity... That was what guided his next choice.

Loki reached out, quickly, and clamped his left hand over the back of Stark's neck, the skin hot under his fingers, and could feel the muscles tense at the touch.

”No!” Loki hissed the word as he used his grip on the man to pull him around and closer. ”To me, you fool!”

With a cold, hard chestplate suddenly against him, Loki turned into the closest corner, pressing Stark to the wall so that his own back was facing out. His hand still on the bare skin of that neck, he used the connection between their bodies to make the knight a part of the illusion he spun around them. Dimming their forms, hiding them both in shadows, just as the heavy footfalls came closer, ever closer, passing them by.

Standing as still a statue, his head bent down, Loki felt breath on his neck. The slow rythm of the breathing was forced, and he knew that the knight was putting a painful amount of effort into controlling himself, not panting hard and audibly. He knew, since he was doing the same.

Listening to the steps fading in the distance, Loki could find satisfaction in the fact that his magic had come to him so readily. He had not reached for it in so long, that green flame inside of him, but it was still at his beck and call. Now, he slowly released the shadows around them again, let go of the man in front of him, and took a step back. 

The knight wore a slightly conflicted expression, seemlingly unsure whether to protest the manhandling, or express gratitude for the protection.

In the end, he chose neither. Instead just walking past Loki, once more hurrying towards the door.


	6. Water

Outside the castle, the chaos was the same. The air filled with smoke and screams.

The red knight made sure they were alone, before he motioned for Loki to follow him along the castle wall to the right. Quickly they moved around a corner, along another wall, coming to a halt at the next corner. Here, the ground abruptly fell away in front of them, and Loki took a careful step to the edge.

Roughly fifteen feet below him a river flowed by. As he had known it would. The enemy's stronghold was built on a small island in the middle of the wide stream, almost where it ran into the thick, dark forest that marked the boundary between their realm, and Asgard.

From here, Loki could almost see the way home.

Stark stared at the water, flowing and foaming below. ”This is the only way out.”

”So it would seem.”

The knight glanced at him, hesitant. Pale. They both knew what he had to do, and Loki could almost muster some small measure of sympathy for the man. Having to remove ones armour in the middle of a battlefield, that was never an easy thing.

”Damn it all!” With a deep sigh, Stark undid his belt and let it fall to the ground by his feet, sword, dagger and all. Then he slid his hand under the armour at his left shoulder, once more glancing up at Loki. ”Help get this off of me.” He winced and almost spat, the words obviously leaving a bad taste in his mouth. ”Of all the things in this world I ever thought I would say to you, that would very likely have been the last. But we have no time.”

Every part of Loki's nature spoke against simply doing what he was asked to do. 

Some parts wished to taunt the poor man, rub his helplessness in his bearded face. Other parts wished very much to strip Stark of the armour - only to snatch up that dagger and bury it hilt deep in his back. Yet other parts suggested simply pushing the still armoured knight into the rush of deep water, to watch him sink.

Then he still elected to ignore all of his conflicting parts, and helped undo the many ties and buckles keeping the enameled suit in place. Their joint efforts soon had the knight out of it, in a tunic and pants that actually resembled what the prince himself was wearing. Only in muted gray and dark blue, instead of green and black. Stark fastened the belt again, but decided to leave his sword behind. The wight would most likely have dragged him to the bottom of the river.

Slowly they stepped to the edge, nodded at each other, shortly, and took the leap.

The river was cold, but not unbearably so. When the first shock faded, they only had to let the current carry them from the castle. Passing along the short stretch of open fields before the line of trees in the distance, they had to dive under the surface to hide from a gang of chitauri. But the creatures were busy fighting over something on the ground, out of sight, which Loki was grateful for.

Entering the forest, the river turned rockier and faster, and they knew they had to get back onto dry land.

Stark, some way ahead, managed to get a hold of a large boulder by the bank, covered in thick roots. He was halfway out of the water when Loki reached the same spot, and only just got a grip on one of the roots, slippery under his fingers. The knight twisted around, their eyes meeting. Behind the dark gaze the man for a brief moment considered watching him lose that barely there grip and be carried off by the stream. Loki knew it, and could not even fault it.

With a grunt, the knight reached out and caught Loki's arm. His grip was vice-like, and did not let up until the prince was by his side on the boulder, panting with the effort.

Both of them very pointedly did not face each other thereafter, climbing up on the bank and starting to walk among the trees, still following the river.

Soon, they were both shivering with the cold of their wet clothes, but they knew they could not stop. They simply had to keep walking, letting the movement warm them, dry the garments. A horrible enemy was at their backs, and they dared not stop until nightall. And when they did, they dared not light a fire to warm them, even when they found a small clearing, surrounded by trees and undergrowth thick enough to keep the worst of the breeze out.

Stark came to a halt, looked around him, and nodded. ”We stay here. We are all but dead on our feet, and we will be of no use to anyone without some rest. Least of all ourselves.”

Without waiting for, or expecting, an answer, the man simply got to his knees, sat down, and then stretched himself out on the ground, his back to Loki.

The prince regarded the man, hesitatingly. He was dry now, warmer than he had been before, but he would soon get colder. The clothes he wore had never been intended for sleeping outside, much less on the bare ground.

He heard a muttered curse and a sigh. He saw Stark's right arm, the one under him, reach around his own ribcage to pat demonstratively at the side of his back.

”You might as well get over here, your highness. Or freeze.”

_Curse that man. Curse him._


	7. Bonded By Misery

Even before he made his decision and moved to press his chest against Stark's back, folding his knees in behind the other's, Loki knew what is would most likely do to him. But with the air of the night trailing cold bites down his spine, he knew it was the only thing he could do.

Some time later, making a small movement to ajust his position, the knight brushed against him, and tensed. He glanced over his shoulder, and even in the darkness Loki could make out the raised eyebrow.

”I would not flatter myself, if I were you”, Loki muttered. ”You may think me a monster, but I am mere flesh and blood.”

”So I noticed.”

Loki growled into the man's neck, as it once again was turned to him. ”Three years with stone and shadow for only company. What do you think such a thing would do to you, Stark?”

The silence lasted for so long that Loki had stopped waiting for a reply when he could feel the man draw breath and the vibrations of the words traveling through the back pressed against him.

”It has been five years.” His voice was slightly, strangely, choked. ”Not stone and shadow for me, but iron and steel. It is all the same in the end, I should think.”

Loki, who had closed his eyes, opened them again to stare at the dark hair in front of him, where it was gathered in small locks over the back of the neck.

”What?” He was unable to hide his confusion. 

”The vow of a knight, Lockaway. It was my own choice.”

With a movement so swift it almost surprised himself, Loki pushed himself off the ground. His hands grabbed Stark's tunic, by the throat and the shoulder, twisting into the thick cloth, forcing the man down flat on his back. The other's hands grabbed his arms, trying to pull them away, but Loki put his whole weight on him, pinning him down. Glaring into the suddenly pale, shocked face beneath him and the wide, dark eyes, he pulled his lips back in a snarl.

”NEVER call me by that name again!” He could hardly recognize his own voice. ”Ever! That is not my name. That is not ME!”

Stark stared up at him for a moment. Then he slowly let go of Loki's arms and placed his own on the ground, over his head, open palms up. Surrender.

”I will never say that name again.” He swallowed. ”Loki.”

Immediately, Loki let go of him, and got to his feet. He did not walk away, however. Just turned his back, his hands curling into fists by his sides. There were no sound behind him, and Loki knew that Stark was still flat on his back, arms up. Any movement the man had made, he would have heard in the complete silence. When he had calmed down, his heart no longer beating as if it was attempting to break out of his chest, there had still not come any sound from behind him. Loki turned, slowly, to look down. 

Just as he had known, Stark had not moved, even shifted, and the man's eyes were still on him.

”Why?” Loki asked.

Stark frowned.

”Why would you do such a thing? Give such a vow?”

The frown disappeared. ”I did what was expected of me.”

”That is...” Loki shook his head, nearly at a loss for words. ”That is a horrible thing to expect of anyone.”

”It is.”

A thought flashed through the prince's mind. Suddenly, without warning, laughter filled him, rose in his chest and pushed its way out of him. He had not laughed in a long, long time. The sensation was strange, but very welcome.

”What?”

Sill laughing, lifting a hand to wipe a tear from his pale cheek, Loki walked back to Stark, sank to his knees beside him. The knight was staring at him.

”What?!”

Loki forced himself under control. ”That was why you knocked me off that horse, was it not? You were envious of my freedom, and wanted to take it from me. The miserable knight, sharing his misery?”

There was, in fact, nothing even remotely amusing about the thought. And still, Loki found himself unable to control his mirth.

”You... I... Shut your mouth!” Stark glared, then rolled away, turning his back on Loki again. ”Monster”, he muttered into the darkness.

For the first time, Loki did not take offence at the word. He just grinned, and once more stretched out behind the knight. This time, he draped his long arm around Stark's chest, pulling him closer to his own. Made sure the other man could feel every inch of him. All of him. When Stark tried to move away, Loki laughed softly in his ear, holding on.

”I am merely sharing my misery, Stark. Humour me.”

A tense moment followed, before the knight sighed, and relaxed, let his back fall back against Loki's chest. They would need the warmth, after all.

”Just keep that bloody mouth of yours closed, and let me sleep”, Stark mumbled. 

And Loki did just that.


	8. Even

Loki was convinced he woke up in the exact same position as he had fallen asleep, the warmth of Stark's body keeping him in place. Now the sun was coming up, somewhere behind the trees, and the chill was slowly going out of the air around him. The prince carefully withdrew the arm that had rested over the knight's chest, rolled away and got to his feet. He rolled his shoulders, stiff after a night on the ground, and raised his arms in as wide a stretch as was possible, exhilirated that no walls or ceiling were impeding his movements.

The forest's scents were spicy and sweet around him, even this early in the morning, and when a thin sliver of sunlight touched his face, the elation was frighteningly close to making him lose his mind all over again.

Freedom, everywhere he turned. Of course, with the exception of behind him, where Stark was still fast asleep.

Staring at the knight, Loki felt the joy fade away. His brow knitted, as he considered the events of the previous day.

On more than one occasion, he had saved the life of the man he had spent three years hating. With a vengeance. A man he had dreamt of killing, in any way he could think of, but all of them close enough, intimate enough, for those dark eyes to see his face when they closed forever. He had wanted the man to know, with his last breath, that his death had come by the hand of prince Loki.

Those bloody, red dreams had kept him alive. Given him the strength to wake up every day in his cell and endure. To not just curl up on that bed and slip away, slowly giving up on himself.

_Your hatred saved your life. You should thank him._

Loki turned his head to spit on the ground. That did not help the bitter taste in his mouth, however.

Thankful, that he would never be. Not even able to forgive or forget. But the strenght his hatred had granted aside, Stark had saved his life. A life the knight had first stolen from him, yes, but none the less, he had saved it now. Also, on more than one occasion.

_Why?_

Stark had ever regarded him as a monster. A skilled warrior, true, but also a wielder of magic. A man able to strike fear into the hearts of his foes with illusions and tricks and shadowy horrors.

Stark, the man of fair fights. The man whose very armour was a challenge to come straight for him. If he came at you from behind, he would wait for you to turn before he raised his sword. The prince knew this to be true; he had seen it on the battlefield, with his own eyes.

How could a man like that see Loki as anything but a monster? And why had he still let him out? Led him out? Pulled him from the river? Slept with that monster's arm around him, knowing full well what Loki might do to him, as soon as he was asleep?

_Why?!_

_Curse that man!_

Loki repeated the old, worn words of rage and hatred. But, somehow, his heart was no longer in it.

Perhaps, they were simply even. A life for a life for a life. This was nothing new for a warrior with blood on his hands, someone who had fought and killed to protect king and realm and brother. Seen others fight and kill to protect his own back.

He remembered the moment they had heard the chitauri approach, that passing heartbeat of understanding. Of being one and the same, in that moment of dread.

On the ground in front of him, Stark rolled over on his back, stretching, yawning. Blinked in the morning light, as his eyes took in the tall shape of Loki looming over him. There was no real fear in the brown eyes. No trust either, of course, but that was not to be expected.

Even.

Loki turned the thought over in his mind. Yes, perhaps they just might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this might sound a bit like an ending, dear reader, but it sure as hell isn't. Me and the boys are just getting warmed up...


	9. Paths

”I shall go down there, alone. Your presence would only frighten them, needlessly.”

Loki was unable to hold back a soft snort. ”I shall accept that as a compliment.”

The men were croaching on a cliff in the forest, eyeing a small cottage hiding among the trees below. A small but well tended garden and five chickens pecking and scratching at the ground outside was proof that the place was inhabited, and that they might find some provisions here.

”Is that so?”

”I would have guessed it more likely that they would not know my face. Much less fear what is left of me.”

Stark glanced at Loki, and the prince knew all too well what he was seeing.

Thin, soft and frail he had become in his cell, no longer the intimidating warrior. Without his red armour the knight beside him was still formidable, muscle showing through the fabric of his garments. By comparison, he made the prince feel small, even though Loki was the taller of the two. 

With a wistful sigh, Loki thought of his own armour, long gone. What he would not give to have it back now! It had been a lighter, sleeker thing than Stark's, more leather and mail than the heavy plate the knight preferred, but that suited Loki better. Black leather, black mail, green cloth, metal of a dusky gold. Ah, yes! Give him that back, and his dagger, and he would once more be himself, Prince Lockaway forgotten.

”Perhaps they would not know you”, Stark conceded. ”However, we are at war, your highness. What they do not know might frighten even more.”

”Very well, then! As you wish, good sir.” If Stark wanted to twist his title into an insult, spitting it out in that way, Loki could answer in kind.

The prince placed a hand on the rock beside him and sat down, crossing his legs and making himself reasonably comfortable. After another glance at him, the knight unfolded himself from his crouching position and began climbing down the cliff. It was not very steep, jagged and covered with snaking roots from the trees around them, and Stark soon reached the ground below, heading for the cottage.

As he waited, Loki began to wonder why he did. Was there any use in the two of them remaining in each other's company? The prince was, after all, heading home. On the other side of this woodland was his own realm, awaiting his return. Golden, soaring Asgard. His heart ached at the mere thought of it. 

And Stark? Where was he heading? His realm was behind them now, broken, bloody and burned to a cinder, and even if it had not been so, the knight had no business in Asgard. On the contrary. There, he would face his well deserved punishment for what had been done to the prince.

So why had the man not struck off on his own yet?

Movement below distracted him from his thoughts. The door of the cottage opened and Stark appeared, carrying a bundle that looked heavy in a very promising way. Once the knight had reached the top of the cliff, he sat down by the prince and put his burden down between them, opened it to reveal cheese in a shell of wax, dried meat, and a few eggs.

They shared the boiled eggs, since those were the least likely to keep fresh, eating in silence. Finished, having brushed away the pieces of broken shell from his legs, Loki found the other man still silent, and staring into the distance.

”What now, Stark? Where do you go from here?” He could se no reason not to be direct.

The knight blinked, and the dark eyes suddenly seemed focused, but he did not turn. The muscle in his jaw was flexing. He did not answer at once, but Loki let him take his time.

”Nowhere.” The word was hardly more than a sigh when it finally left the man's lips. ”There is nowhere for me to go.”

”The miserable knight”, Loki mumbled, studying the sharp profile.

”No!” Stark whipped his head around to glare at him, scowling. ”No time for misery here, highness. You think me unable to find a new path for myself, simply because the one behind me is gone?”

”The one behind us is always gone.”

”How very insightful.”

Silence, once more.

”I need not ask where you go from here, at least.”

”No.”

Stark faced forward, staring into the distance again. ”The border with Asgard runs along the edge of the forest. If I should follow it, to the south, I could reach the sea.”

”A new path as good as any.”

”And one which leads me in the same direction as yours, at least for now,”

”So it does.”

When the knight gathered up the bundle, got to his feet and prepared to leave, heading east, Loki followed. Not one word passed between them, but they had both accepted the new arrangement.


	10. Naked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fragile truce between prince and knight is broken, into a thousand pieces.

Before dusk they made camp, lighting a fire to cook some of the oats also hiding in the bundle Stark had been given, nestled in a small metal pot they filled with water from the river. As it was coming to a boil, Loki ventured down to the river again, this time to wash himself. He would have washed his clothes as well, but he knew the night would be too cold without them.

When he was as clean as the cold water could make him, Loki sat on a boulder half hidden by the vegetation by the river. The smooth rock was still warm, having soaked up the sunlight of the passed day, and he was content to sit there while the light breeze dried him. Lost in thought, watching the water running by at his feet, the prince did not know how long he had been sitting there when he heard movements. Tense, he rose from the rock in a half crouch, only to find that it was Stark, coming to the river to drink.

His thirst quenched, the knight moved to stand, and caught sight of Loki in the corner of his eye.

Loki slowly straighetend to his full height, letting Stark see all of him. And the man did. The dark eyes took in the long legs, the jut of hipbones, the sligtly concave stretch of stomach to the chest and wide shoulders. All of it white in the dim, grey light.

”Admiring your handiwork, Stark?”

The dark eyes moved up to his face in such a rush that the man must have hurt his neck. ”My... WHAT?!”

”This is what your actions have turned me into, after all. Do you take pleasure in that?”

” _No!_ ” Stark's head pulled back, the lines on his face painting revulsion. ”Also, that is a damned lie! I defeated you, fairly. You were already the weaker man, Loki, always have been.”

”Lucky!” Loki sneered. ”You were but very lucky. And I would gladly prove you wrong, but, well, here we are.”

The prince made a gesture from his own naked, lanky body to the stocky knight, fully dressed and with the dagger at his hip.

”Here we are”, the man repeated, his eyes again traveling over the pale form in front of him, seemingly involuntary. Then he shook himself, turning away with a dismissive gesture of his hand, as if throwing some notion away from himself, and walked back toward camp.

Dressed, Loki followed him.

They ate and watched the fire die down to glowing embers, as dusk came along to join them.

”How was I lucky?”

The sudden words made Loki flinch, just slightly, bringing him back from very distant thoughts. He studied his own hands as he answered.

”The sunlight”, he all but whispered. ”You came at me, almost from behind. I could see you, shining red, waiting. When I wheeled my horse around, the sun blinded me.” He snorted at the memory. ”It would not have mattered, usually, but the shadows I call... They darken my eyes.”

”You had it all coming, then. Monster.”

Loki raised his chin to glare. ”How am I different from you, Stark? You have slain more men than I, surely. For king and duty and honor. How am I a monster, and you are not?”

”I did it fairly! No man has ever fallen by my blade who truly deserved to live, to win.” Stark's words drove him to his feet.

”So, then, I do not deserve to live?”

”No, you do not! Your life was forfeit when you killed my men unfairly, without honor.” The knight lifted a hand to point at him. ”They were men I had fought side by side with, for years. Men I considered closer than brothers. Good, honest men. And your magics and foul tricks undid everything they were, and could have become!”

Anger flared in his heart as Loki also stood. ”Had they been any less dead killed by my blade? The outcome would have been no different.”

”That could not have happened. Fairly, you could never have bested the likes of them.”

”Oh, but I could have!” Loki stepped closer, using the only advantage he had, his height, to tower over the other. ”How quickly you forget! That what I have become is not what I was. That even though you defeated me, once, I bested you in the field before that. More than once.”

”You most certainly did _not_ , you tricksy shit! Your brother did!”

Before the last word was even fully out of his mouth, Loki was on him.

As he had already done in so many dreams, the prince closed his long, pale fingers around the knight's throat. Even though he was lighter than the other man, the force of his attack made Stark lose his balance. On the ground, Loki fought to get a firm grip on that cursed neck, get what weight he had on it to pin the man down again. 

But this time, Stark did not surrender. Spitting and swearing, the knight got Loki's hands off his throat with what seemed to the prince like no effort at all. Twisting under him, Stark threw Loki to the ground, getting him flat on his back.

Loki knew he was hopelessly overpowered, even before the knight caught his arms and forced them down in the grass just above his shoulders, stopping there to stare down at the prince.

”Your brother is the true warrior, Loki. Never you!”

”No! Do not dare to... You do _not_... I will...” Loki's rage turned to horror when he found himself unable to force the words out of his tight chest, tears stinging his eyes. ” _Get off me!_ ”

A note of his distress was clear in his voice, and Stark heard it. The knight regarded his wet eyes, the pained lines of his face, and let go of his arms. He sat back on Loki's thighs, but only to get his own feet back on the ground, stand up to back away.

The prince rolled over on his side, an arm hiding his face as it was pressed against the damp grass.

_Curse that man._


	11. Beneath The Stars

The next day passed in complete silence. A very tense, uncomfortable silence that chafed.

At dusk, they made camp, still silent. Ate the same way, cold cheese and meat, without the comfort of a fire.

When Loki tilted his head back and saw stars glinting between the leaves above them, something inside of him shifted. He decided that he had had enough of silence.

”If you truly believe my life to be forfeit, why did you save it?” He spoke the words to the stars.

Moments passed, long as an eternity.

”Because you were right.” Stark sighed. ”No man, worrior or not, should have to die like a trapped animal. The things I saw that day...”

There was a choking sound. A cough.

Loki turned the words over in his mind, inspecting the flaw in that argument.

”Very well. But why then pull me from the river? Why feed me?”

”By then I owed you my life, two times over. It was only fair.” Stark curled up on the ground. ”Now, we are even.”

There was some satisfaction in hearing the man give words to Loki's own thoughts.

”I should say that we are.”

Loki gazed at the stars for a long time, until he heard Stark falling asleep. Then he arranged himself behind the knight, his back against the warmth of the other's.

How much later he woke up he never knew. Only that it was no longer Stark's back that was against him, and that he was not the only one who was awake. There was something labored in the man's breathing, Loki could feel a faint tremor of tension in the legs resting against his.

”Stark?” He whispered the name, worry touching a cold finger to his heart. Was the man sick? ”Are you well?”

”No.” A pause. ”Yes. Just, be quiet.”

Loki tried to be, but failed.

”If you are ill, I -”

”I am not! I just... Oh, bloody hell!”

A hand shot out, in a harsh and furious movement, to clamp over Loki's hipbone and roughly pull him back until he was flush against the other. The knight angled his own hip, meeting him, and even through the garments they were both wearing Loki could feel the heat and hardness of him. Answering every question he might have had.

He had not at all been prepared for the effect that would have on his own body, so long deprived of any intimate closeness. The shock of his own sudden arousal made him tense and twist. 

Apparently the reaction felt to Stark as him trying to move away, and the knight let out a growl. His left hand moved up between them to tangle into Loki's inky hair, pulling the prince's head back. Between the hand in his hair and the unrelenting grip still on his hip, Loki was forced to arch his back, pressing even harder against Stark with the new shift in position.

A thousand pinpricks, hot and burning, spread over his scalp, but Loki merly let his head tilt back into it. He had, after all, not attempted to move away in the first place. Why, he could not say, and neither was he asking, his mind a void.

The hand on his hip moved then, tearing at his pants, pushing its way in under the fabric. It found him, grabbing him by the root. Hard. Much too hard. Then the hand ran towards the tip of him in a stroke just as hard. Loki sucked in a gasping breath which turned into a moan coming out of his chest again. The pleasure of it was painful, punishing, and there was a comfort in that, in the barely controlled rage of it all. Loki would definitely not have wished for tenderness. Not from this man.

Stark's hand found a rythm and Loki's hips strained to meet it, which left a sliver of empty space between them. His mind just as empty, Loki reached behind him. Groping. Searching. Finding.

At his touch, Stark twisted his hand harder into Loki's long hair, a deep growl coming out of him once more.

”Damn you.” His words were a gush of hot breath on the side of Loki's neck.

”Damn you.” Another pull tilted the prince's head back even more, before breath was followed by teeth.

”Harder.” The last word was a groan into the angle between Loki's neck and shoulder.

The command proved too much for the prince. With a bitten back moan he came undone, his hips pushing against Stark's hand, his shoulders against his chest. But he still obeyed, his own hand never letting up, his grip as hard as he could make it as the knight thrust into it.

It did not take much before Stark was also spent.

Slowly, the knight untangled his hand from Loki's hair. They both pulled away, got their hands off of each other. For a while they but listened to their own heavy breathing slowing and softening into silence.

”Damn you”, Stark repeated, into the darkness.

”Curse you.” Loki's voice was a broken thing, its sharp edges cutting his throat. ”Curse you.”


	12. Thunder

Deep but still distant rolls of thunder woke prince Loki early in the morning. The air was dark with the coming storm, but he still did not think the sun had risen, and he was shivering cold. For the first time he had not slept by the knight, and the chill had entered his very bones by now.

Sitting up, he rubbed his hands over his arms. Glancing at the knight, he saw Stark still sleeping soundly, curled up tight against the cold, arms folded in close to his chest and hands by his mouth, to warm them with every breath. Loki averted his eyes, a strange feeling of intruding the man's privacy coming over him. Instead, he stood and walked over to sit down by the trunk of a nearby tree. There was some measure of living warmth coming from the wood behind him, and he wrapped his arms around his knees in an attempt to hold on to it.

Another thunderclap told him it was approaching, although he still had not seen the flash of lightning.

Loki felt the worst of the shivers ease, and thought about illusions.

He knew much about illusions, much and more. He had mastered the use of them, after all, and with them was able to protect himself and others. They had always been an armour to hide behind, and a weapon to use against his foe.

What he had completely failed to understand – had refused to understand – was that he had long surrounded himself with a different kind of illusions than the ones others could see. He had found out by having them all painfully breaking apart around him.

_Monster. The weaker man. Tricksy shit. Your brother is the true warrior. Never you._

Stark's words still stung. Most of all because they had held nothing truly new to the prince. He had but been the first to say those things to his face. The meaning of it, however, was old.

Even at the peak of his strength, Loki had been but a pale shadow of his brother. Thor with his warhammer, the perfect embodiment of might and power, an inspiring leader, glowing with golden charisma. On the battlefield he was an unstoppable force, and men were willing to follow him anywhere.

Thor, the honorable man, the fair fighter.

And by his shoulder, a step behind, in the dark shadow of that shining glory – Loki. Wearing his lighter armour, preferring the dagger over other weapons, using his magic to win the battles brute force could not. His shadows and illusions, fog and fear, had saved the day on many occasions, spared many an asgardian warrior needlessly perishing in battle.

The gratitude he recieved? Why, to be regarded as the trickster. The coward. The weakling who could not hold a candle to his formidable brother.

Never to his face, no, of course not. But he had felt the whispers none the less.

The illusions he had nurtured, then? Why, that he did not care, of course. That while he may not be what was expected of him, he held his own virtues. That the weight of muscle would hide the tricks, the flame of magic flickering under it. That what he did, he always did for the greater good, and some day, they would all see the value of it.

And then, Stark had knocked him from his horse, turned him into Prince Lockaway, and every last piece of the warrior he had fought to become was stripped from him. Armour. Weapons. Strength. All of it, gone.

Magic and tricks. Those never left, though. It was all he was made of now, and he was left to face the truth – that those things had always been the heart of him. What he really was.

Never the true warrior. Always the tricksy shit.

No wonder his father had abandoned him to imprisonment.

Loki curled up tighter, leaning his forehead against his knees, while gusts of wind rushed through the tree above him. The rolling thunder spoke the wet words of coming rain, and Loki welcomed the storm.


	13. Broken Vow

”Wake up, Stark.” Loki poked his toes into the knight's back. ”There is rain coming. You will want to get cover.”

He had considered not rousing the man, simply letting him wake up to the heavy spatter of cold rain. In the end, he had chosen to do it anyway.

Stark started, looking up at the prince standing over him. Then the dark eyes blinked, taking in the threatening darkness of the sky behind Loki, and he sat up, rubbing his face.

”Yes, I should say I will, at that.”

By the time the man was on his feet, stretched and fully awake, Loki had already returned to his curled up position by the tree. It surprised the prince somewhat to see the knight, bringing the bundle of provisions, coming to sit down by his side, instead of finding some other shelted against the storm. Stark left some distance between them, at least, and they sat quietly there as the rain at last started falling, the drops as huge and heavy as Loki had known they would be. At the same time, the wind picked up, perhaps so as not to be outdone by the rain, and despite the cover of trees they were soon soaked through.

Wind and rain had nothing on the flash of lightning and deafening roar of thunder, however. The thunder ruled the skies, and let everyone know of it. But as any and every ruler, the thunder eventually was replaced. The skies cleared, and behind the black clouds the sun had come up.

In the small clearing, all was wet, cold and shivering misery. 

Even though he had just woken up, Stark seemed exhausted. The muscular shoulders slumped as he got to his feet, looking around him.

”Loki?”

”What?”

”I am not doing this. Not today. I cannot muster the strength for another day on my feet, slopping wet, in a forest just as wet.” He gathered the dripping hem of his tunic and pulled the garment over his head. ”I am staying put until tomorrow. Then I will move on, dry and rested. You carry on, if you wish.”

As the knight started hanging his tunic to dry over a neraby bush, Loki considered doing just that. Getting up, walking away, all on his own. It might be easier. Perhaps Stark even wished that he would? But beneath the thoughts he knew he would not. Whatever Stark was, he was better than being alone.

When he left his spot by the tree, without a word to the other man, it was to walk down to the river, and there he stopped to free himself of his clothes. 

They were still following the wide stream, and here it had turned deeper and calmer. The bank was steep, but he managed to get in far enough for the water to reach his waist. Washing himself, and then his already soaked clothes, before he climbed back up to wring the water from cloth and hair as best he could.

Loki did not wish to return to the camp, but where else could he go? Nowhere. He spent some more time combing fingers through his hair, teasing out tangles. Then he finally relented, heaved a sigh, his teeth clenched, and walked back.

Stark was also out of his wet clothes by now, busy laying out the provisions to dry as well. Wise. Their rations were meager enough as it was, without them losing more to the rain.

Loki spread his clothes over leaves and branches in the patchy sunlight. When he turned, the knight was still on his knees, but had straightened his back and was staring at the prince. Not even attempting to hide it now.

”Keep your eyes off me, Stark”, Loki growled, scowling, before giving the dark eyes his back again.

”I would, you know”, the man muttered. ”If I could.”

”No easier thing.”

The prince huffed something that might have been a laugh, straighetening the already perfectly tidy garments in front of him. Curse that fool. What was there worth seeing? White skin and the bones beneath?

Stark was right in front of him the next time he turned. He could not stop himself gasping with the surprise of it; he had not even heard the man move.

”So you would think”, Stark said, voice bitter and rough.

”Do not even _dare_ to -” 

But, of course, Stark dared. His hands were as rough as his voice, coarse and calloused, when they caught Loki's arms, pulling him closer.

Loki then found himself putting up the strangest fight of his entire life.

It was a fight he knew he could not, and would not, win. And it was also the first fight he did not put up to come out victorious.

He wished for this defeat.

But he also wished for the fight. The futile, breathless rage of it.

Stark seemed to fully share this sentiment.

It was an ugly, dirty fight. Between the hitting and wrestling, there was the biting, spitting and viscious swearing. Fairness and honor were forgotten, this was but a thing of flesh and blood and rage. And they both knew how it would end.

Flat on the ground, Stark half way on top of him, and with a heavy hand pressing his face against the wet dirt, Loki still did not stop squirming and fighting. It was only when the knight's other hand slid down over his lower back, then his ass, to let a finger dip into the crevice of it, that the surrender came. Not slowly and gradually like a sunset. No, all at once the fight in him was abruptly snuffed out, like a candleflame.

Wet and spit and strong, searching fingers were not enough to prepare him for what was to come. But he highly doubted anything would have been enough. Still, his scream was not all pain, and when the knight pulled back for the next thrust, Loki moved to meet him.

He was not surprised when Stark's hand, lifting him to reach in under his body, found him hard and already teetering at the brink.

When it was all over, they knelt staring at each other. Undone, spent, aching, sore and still so unreasonably, breathlessly enraged.

It was rage that pulled the corners of Loki's mouth into a wicked grin.

”And thus, the vow of a knight was broken.”

The slap was fast and hard enough to whip Loki's head to the side. He tasted blood.

Stark's face was all tears and fury. ”You truly are a monster.”

Loki found no argument against his words this time.


	14. Conflicted

When the prince was awakened the next morning by the sensation of a hot mouth all but swallowing him whole, he was at first convinced it was all part of some strange, lingering dream.

After his quip and the slap, the previous day had been an uneventful thing. They had kept away from each other for the most part, and any time Loki had caught a glimpse of the knight's face, Stark had worn an expression of confused hurt that nearly, but just nearly, had pricked the prince's conscience.

_Curse that man. He had most certainly had it coming!_

They had fallen asleep even farther apart than the night before, the anger something almost palpable between them.

And now this...

The man's actions were a mystery that Loki was struggling to fathom. But then the wet slick of that mouth, that tongue moving over him, turned his mind into an empty void once more. He abandoned any attempt at reason, and gave in to whatever cursed kind of folly this might be.

Loki's hands reached out to the other's head, his fingers going into the short, dark hair to grip it. At first he simply let his hands follow Stark's motions, but as his grip on reality slipped, his grip on that hair tightened, twisted, turned demanding.

The sounds he made as he completely fell into the void, seemed inhuman even in his own ears.

Finding a foothold in the world, he opened his eyes to find Stark still sitting next to him. The dark eyes lost in nothing. Loki could think of only one reason the man had not moved away, and so he reached a hand towards the knight, thinking to return this odd favour. 

”No!” Stark's hand lashed out, hitting his away. Hard. ”Keep away from me.”

 _That_ was rich, coming from him!

”Really, Stark? I was not the one who just -”

”Shut. Your. Damned. Mouth!”

Loki thought he knew rage, but the inferno in the knight's eyes in that moment was something the likes of which the prince had never seen. Or felt. It spoke of bloody death and horrors.

Slowly, Loki lifted himself off the ground, to sit facing the man. He was careful not to make any sudden movements, ready to flee at any moment.

”You did this to me!” Stark's voice was a growl, but under the burning rage Loki could once more make out some of the confused hurt from the day before.

”It must have been you. With your tricks and magics and damned _illusions_! Is anything about you even real?”

Loki could only stare, for once at a loss for words.

”Five years of upholding every vow i have taken, and never a doubt that I would keep doing so. Forever. And then you! I let you out of that cell, even though you told me you would take your vengeance another day. Is this it?” He twisted around, grabbed the front of Loki's green tunic and pulled him close, to stare into his face. ”What even are you? How have you done this?”

He shook the prince. ” _Tell me!_ ”

”I have done nothing, Stark! And I _am_ nothing! Nothing but useless tricks and bones!” Loki snarled into the bearded face, no longer wellgroomed. ”The nothing you left me.”

Stark seemed baffled by that. He slowly shook his head.

”You are no 'nothing', Loki. You are... You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

For some moments they stared at each other, and it was a hard thing to tell which man was more deeply shocked and completely dumbfounded.

In the end, Stark shoved Loki back away from him, releasing his garment, and made him fall back on his elbows.

”Damn it all.” The knight got to his feet, and gave Loki his back. His shoulders were tense enough to strain the fabric of his tunic.

Then Loki heard a sigh, and the man's shouldes fell, just slightly.

”By the end of this day we should be on our separate ways. You for Asgard, me for the coast. And thereafter, I hope I shall never lay eyes upon you again.”

Loki swallowed, fighting to find his tongue.

”Well. On this, at least, we can agree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't think there would be another chapter today, but here we are.  
> Apparently, I have a problem.


	15. To Each His Own

Stark had been right when he had estimated that they would be on their separate paths by the end of the day. It was still only in the middle of the afternoon when they reached the end of the forest, stepping out from the trees to se the wide, white ribbon of road stretch across the plains in front of them. To the left, it would lead Loki to his home. To the right, it would eventually lead Stark to whatever life he wished for himself.

When they set foot on the pale stone, they stopped short and turned to face one another.

”Well.” Loki gave a wry smile.

”Well.” Stark was staring at him, belying his expressed wish to never lay eyes upon the prince again.

It was a strange moment. They both wished to be rid of the other, but there was also a bond between them which could not be denied. In the days since the escape from the citauri army, traveling through the woodlands, they had been eachother's entire world. And it had not been a peaceful one.

Stark looked as if he might open his mouth to say something more. Instead, he tore his brown eyes from Loki's face. With another of those dismissive gestures, throwing his own thoughts from him, the knight simply turned on his heel and started walking south along the road.

Loki found himself rooted to the ground, staring after the disappearing man. Then he blinked, shaking himself awake.

What was he waiting for?

He turned, and set out for home.

Walking on the road was very different from navigating the woodland. It let him stretch his long legs, picking up the pace, and to the prince it was as if no time at all had passed before he was approaching the walls of Asgard, the golden gates still open in the last sunlight of the day. The mere sight of it was enough to fill him with glorious elation.

For too long, he had thought he would never lay eyes upon this place again.

_Home._

One of the heavily armoured guards at the gate eyed him suspiciously as he walked into the city, but said nothing. He saw no prince returning, Loki knew. Only a torn and dirty traveler, perhaps come to beg for scraps at the square. It mattered not. 

Wandering through the streets towards the palace felt like one of Prince Lockaway's dreams, the reality of it almost too overwhealming. He marveled at all of it. The soaring towers, a pot of flowers by a flight of stairs, the golden statues of his ancestors, children falling over eachother chasing pigeons.

At the palace gate, the guards would not let him pass. Just as he had known they would not. They did not know his face. Would not believe his words when he told them his name. And he could not fault it. But he refused to retreat. Would not let up. Until at last, the einhärjar in charge turned to snap an order, and one of the guards hurried away.

The waiting that followed seemed endless, shadows growing longer at his feet.

Just as he thought he might give up, after all, the gate swung open again. The man who walked out into the light, Loki would have known anywhere. He hoped that was a mutual thing.

”Thor.” The name was a sigh, and he cleared his throat, to speak up. ”I am home, brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A LOT of family feels coming up in the next few chapters...


	16. Homecoming

The older prince of Asgard simply stared at Loki, eyes taking in the ragged, tousled, lanky figure. He blinked, mouth falling open as recognition slowly came to him.

”Brother?” The look on Thor's face was not just surprise, Loki realized. It was utter shock. ”Loki? How? I... We thought you dead!”

And then the golden giant came for him, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into a warm and crushing embrace. The press of heavy, massive arms was hurting his ribs, but Loki could not muster a protest. Instead he simply rested his forehead against his brother's shoulder, breathing in the unusual affection.

It was not until that moment he realized how much he had truly missed his brother. Not the mighty warrior. Not the charismatic, regal commander. _His brother_. The one who had always been there to laugh at his mischief, beat him bloody in the exercise yard, and then pick him up when he fell.

Suddenly the hands were on his shoulders again, holding him at arm's length, to allow the blue eyes to study him more closely.

”It truly is you!” Thor's face finally brightened, splitting into a wide grin. ”How is this possible? Father told us you had perished, and yet, here you are.”

Loki took those words in and did everything he could to hide the blow of them. Luckily, Thor was by far too excited to notice any distress at the moment. Or to expect an answer.

”But you do look pale as a corpse!” A booming laugh. ”When mother sees those hollow cheeks of yours, she is going to have a fit. I hope you are hungry, for there will be no end to the meal she will put in front of you.”

Thor's arm draped over the back of Loki's shoulders, and then his brother started guiding him towards the castle, dispersing the hovering guards with a short gesture.

Frigga, the queen of Asgard, as golden as her firstborn, did not, in fact, ”have a fit”, as her son had put it. She was far too composed a woman for any such thing. Her face showed none of the shock he had noticed in Thor's, either, only the widest smile he had ever seen lit up her familiar features. But there was something in her eyes, something dark behind the joy as she came to embrace him.

When she released him, however, it was gone, and Loki thought he might have imagined it all.

Thor had, on the other hand, been right about the meal their mother ordered be brought to her chambers for her returned son. It was indeed endless. But Loki was also hungry. Very hungry.

As he ate, his mother and brother sitting beside him, it was not only his stomach growing full. His heart knew the taste of their voices and smiles, just as his mouth knew the taste of this food and drink. And when they asked him what had happened to him, where he had been these past years, he told them.

They knew that he had fallen on the battlefield, but that was all. He told them of imprisonment. Of the chitauri invasion, and Thanos' attack on the neighboring realm worried Thor, as Loki had known it would. He told them of escape, and a journey through the forest. And not once did he mention a knight in a red, enameled suit of armour. Not once did the name of Stark pass his lips. Not once did he let them know he had been anything but alone on his way back to Asgard.

He could not say why.

When he was unable to swallow another bite, Loki was content to listen to their retelling of the past years' events, although he could not later remember much of what had been said. Being where he was, it was enough for him then. Frigga, smiling at him. Thor, now and then grabbing his shoulder for emphasis, telling him of some grand thing.

_Home._

That was when a soft knock came at the door. One of the einhärjar entered at the queens admission, bowing.

”The king has recieved word of the prince's return, my queen. He wishes to speak with him.”

”Then he shall have his wish.”

Frigga turned to smile at Loki, as the prince got to his feet. ”I am sure it will warm your father's heart to learn he was wrong. That you still live.”

”I am sure.” Loki smiled back, as sweetly as he could manage. 

He already knew there would be nothing warm in Odin's heart. The man did, after all, not take well to being proven wrong.


	17. The Throne

By the ornate doors leading into the throne room Loki came to a halt. One sideways glance was enough to dismiss the guard, who had escorted him all the way there, and then the prince was left alone to face his father.

Loki tilted his head forward, long, black hair falling in dirty, tangled locks around his face, to look down at his own body. One knee of his worn, black pants was torn. The green tunic was stained with sweat and dirt. Raising his hands, palms up, he saw dark lines of dirt in the creases.

_Lovely._

Somehow, the state of him had not bothered him before, with his mother and brother. But this was not the way he had wanted to appear in front of Odin. There was nothing he could do about it now, however, so the prince sighed, and stepped forward to push the great doors in front of him open.

The throne of Asgard was a huge, sweeping thing at the end of a row of mighty pillars, carrying a roof so distant it was lost in shadow. Especially at this late night hour, when only the flickering lights of candles and torches lit the room. On the throne the king was waiting, watching Loki approaching.

By the foot of the wide stairs leading up to the royal seat, Loki stopped to regard his father's face. The years had been less kind to Odin than to the rest of his family. Now, the king's beard was almost entirely white, the lines of his face deeper around the leather-and-gold patch covering his lost eye. There was no surprise or shock in those lines, nor relief or joy. Or anything else. Just a stern, distant look.

”Father.” Loki gave a nod, something that might have passed for a respectful greeting. 

”Loki.” The king's voice revealed nothing. ”I had not thought it possible for you to come back to us.”

”Really? That is most strange.” Words bitter enough to burn. ”The message you recieved three years ago with an offer to buy my freedom, and the refusal your raven brought back, would suggest otherwise.”

Loki thoughtfully tilted his head. ”Or is that the reason you did not think it possible?”

Odin merely watched his growing rage in silence.

”Is that the reason my mother and brother believed me to have fallen in battle? My body never found?" Loki leaned forward slightly. " _Is that the reason?_ ”

Still no words from the throne.

Loki drew a long breath, attempting calm.

”You let them think me dead, did you not?”

”Yes.” The word was slow, but steady. No hesitation in the deep voice.

” _Why?!_ ” Loki knew the hurt was in his voice, but was unable to keep it locked away.

”Because I wished it to be true!” The loathing in Odin's one, piercing eye hit Loki as if it had been a blow to his gut. He even took half a step backwards, stricken.

When the king of Asgard had not ransomed his son, Loki had never felt any surprise. He had not expected his father to stoop that low, to admit that his enemies had taken something of value from him, to admit weakness or – impossibly! - defeat. That had not prevented the sting of abandonment, but he had expected nothing else than for pride to win out.

This, though. This was something else entirely.

The king rested his chin on his fist, the elbow supported by the armrest of the throne, and gazed out into nothing.

”I should never have taken you in.”

Loki felt his heart turn to brittle ice in his chest.

”That damned mother of yours.” Odin still did not look at him as he spoke. ”She tricked me that day. All magic and black hair. Just like her son.” A sigh. ”I ought to have let you perish with her, so you could not bring shame upon this house.”

The ice cracked, split, and shattered.

All of his life, a lie. The woman he had thought his mother, the only one whose love he had never doubted or questioned, he now knew was not. And he remembered the darkness in her eyes then, the shadow he had almost thought imagined.

The shattered ice in his chest split apart once more, making him completely hollow, the inside of his ribcage covered in nothing but frost.

His only tie by blood to this place was the hateful man in front of him. And half of a brother, one he now knew why he could never match.

”I never did. _Father_.” Loki almost spat the last word out. ”You did.”

Odin at last turned to rest his one eye on his bastard son.

”Ever you spoke to us of honor, but if this is what honor is, I want none of it.” This time Loki did spit. ”You may keep that honor, your grace, and I pray that you choke on it.”

The prince who was no true prince, turned away from the throne and the man sitting on it. The man he no longer considered a father. He walked out of the throne room, swearing never to return.


	18. Farewells And Goodbyes

At the very least, he found that they had left his old chambers untouched, when he arrived at that door after hiding his hurt and heartbreak away in the dark hours. Keeping well away from anyone who might be searching for him.

A thin layer of dust covered the stacks and rows of books, the furniture, and floors, but it was as he remembered it. Outside the high windows, the view was as splendid as always, the bright line of arriving dawn, framed by curtains of deep green velvet.

To Loki's eyes, it was all dust. For three years he had dreamt of coming home, to his family. And he had, only to find he had neither family nor home to return to. Only the lie of a mother, and a brother who would all too soon forget the joy of reunion and see him for the wretch he had become. 

There was no possible way for him to remain in this place. He knew it to be true the moment he saw these rooms. Everything his eyes touched belonged to someone else, one who no longer existed. When he had been Prince Lockaway, he had always thought that he would be able to be Prince Loki once again. That all it would take was for him to step onto Asgard's soil, don his armour, pick up his blade, and all would be as it once was.

He could not possibly have been more wrong.

True, he was no longer Prince Lockaway, but the Prince Loki who had gone to war was just as long gone. Both dead, buried, along with all his illusions.

What was he now? Who?

Loki. 

No titles for him.

Tricks and bones. 

Nothing more. Nothing less.

All things considered, it might be worse.

Now, he ransacked the rooms of the long lost prince. He found clothes to wear that felt suitable even to a man without a royal title. No armour this, no heavy mail or plate, merely thick, black leather, accented by green cloth, and a hint of dusty golden metal. A long dagger at his hip.

In a secret compartment behind a loose stone in a corner, he found an old treasure trove of gems and coins. Why a prince would feel compelled to hide such things in his own castle, he could no longer say. But he was glad for it now.

Then he closed that door forever, and followed every hidden away roundabout way he knew down to the stables. And those were many. He had no desire for farewells and goodbyes, all he wished for was to be back on the road.

In the stables he picked out two mounts for himself. No heavy warsteeds, but rather the lithe horses a hunter would favour, light and swift, hardy and surefooted.

Loki was just done fastening the bridle of the second horse when she found him.

”He told you?”

The voice made him shiver and tense. He could not turn to face her, so he rested his forehead against the warm neck of the animal in front of him.

”He did.”

Frigga's sigh was heavy. ”You will not return to us this time.”

It was no question, but he gave her the answer anyway.

”I cannot. This place is not for me. Never was.”

The woman he had thought of as his mother until this day, came to stand by his side.

”You have saddled both mounts.” Frigga combed her fingers through the horse's mane. ”How come?”

Loki's brow knitted as he realized that she was right. He had. Not thinking about what he was doing, at that. And why? What use would a lone rider have for two saddles? Unless he did not plan on remaining alone...

”I might have company.” 

”That would please me. Knowing that you are not alone in the world.”

”I would still manage.”

”I do not doubt that. You were ever the strong one.”

He frowned at her. ”Thor -”

”Oh, my dear. Your father and your brother know only one kind of strength. You are far too clever to think things so simple.”

Loki swallowed. At this moment, he felt anything but strong. Should she ask him to stay, beg it of him, he knew that he would relent.

As if having heard the words in his mind, Frigga turned to him.

”Do what you must”, she said. ”Even though it breaks my heart, losing you again.” 

He had no words.

”You were always my son, Loki.” She placed her soft hands on his face, gently angling his head forward to kiss his forehead. ”Always will be.”

When she let go he knew tears were running down his cheeks, but he did not care. He reached out and embraced her, buried his face in her golden hair, streaked with silver, and breathed in the scent of her for the last time.

”Never doubt that I love you”, he whispered, and felt her back tense in a soft sob. ”Mother.”

He backed away, at last, and wiped a tear from her face with his thumb. He just managed a thin, frail smile.

”Tell my brother I shall miss him. Again.”

”I will.”

He was still crying when he rode out of the great, golden gates, which were just opening to greet the rising sun. And when he was once more on the open road, spurring the horses to a light canter.

This was why he had had no desire for farewells and goodbyes. Nothing good ever came out of such things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have hurt something vital writing this. But the worst part is over...  
> Now, where did I leave Sir Stark?


	19. Blood

Loki soon passed the point where he and Stark had gone their separate ways. It felt to him like it had been ages ago, although it had not yet been a day. He wondered how far the knight might have come in that time, on foot, before making camp for the night.

The thought was still on his mind when he saw the blood.

There was not a lot of it, but on the pale stones of the road it was very visible. Even from a distance. 

Loki leaned back in the saddle, reining in his horse. He eyed the reddish stains, seemingly still rather fresh, a dark shadow of worry moving in his mind. Looking around he noticed trampled grass by the road, a faint track of it leading towards the forest.

Not bothering with asking himself why, Loki urged his horses off the road, following that barely there trace of someone passing by not too long ago. 

Just inside the woodland, Loki dismounted and tethered the horses to continue on foot. Here and there he still saw signs of someone passing by, and drops of blood were visible on leaves and roots. A tree he passed wore a bright red handprint on its pale bark, as a badge of honour.

When he heard voices, he knew he had found what he had been searching for.

”Nothing of worth with this one. I say, we kill him and leave.”

”Could still sell him. If we reach the harbour.”

”Bugger that. Too much fight in him. Who would buy that kind of trouble?”

Loki was sure that was really all he needed to hear. 

Three long strides brought him out of the undergrowth, into the clearing where the men had made their camp.

His sudden arrival had the two men he had overheard jumping to their feet. They were ruffians, bandits, if he had ever seen any. Rough and worn, faces dirty under their beards.

In silence, Loki drew his dagger. 

That was the only challenge needed. The men pulled short, mean axes from their belts and advanced. Side by side at first, fanning out later, so as to come at him from both sides.

Loki watched them come, adjusting his grip on the dagger, its long blade resting against the inside of his arm, and thinking of fair fights. Honour. But those thoughts were fleeting, leaving him as quickly as they had arrived.

No fairness. No honour. _No rules_. It was all going to be done his way, now and forever more.

_Tricksy shit? Oh, yes..._

A flick of the long fingers on Loki's left hand towards the man on that side of him summoned a flare of green fire, its flames licking at the man's face. He stumbled backwards with a shout of surprised fear, throwing his arms up for protection agains what was not really there. The man on Loki's right could not help glancing over at his friend, startled and confused. 

As soon as the man's eyes left him, Loki pounced, any and all hesitation forgotten.

Years without any practice had made him weaker, but also lighter, and to his great delight, he found that he was still fast. Not as fast as he had been, once, but more than fast enough for this foe. The movements, learned long ago and repeated endlessly, were not forgotten. Could never be forgotten. They were part of him, after all.

The blade of the dagger slit the man's throat before he had even turned back. Pushing the bleeding, gargeling body aside, Loki moved on to the man still fighting the green flames, even though they were already paler, fading. When the fire suddenly snuffed out, the man instead found himself staring straight into Loki's white, grinning face.

He did not have time to shout this time, the dagger sliding between ribs to pierce his heart.

For a moment Loki stood still, looking down at the fallen by his feet. It had all happened so fast, it seemed unreal even to him.

Then he let his eyes travel over the camp in front of him, a fire and a small wagon in the middle. On the far side of the wagon, by the wheel, Loki thought he could just make out a familiar shape, in a familiar grey tunic. Walking closer, he soon found out that he had been right.

Stark was sitting by the wagon, arms behind him, obviously bound to the wheel. He was stained and spattered with blood, head tilted forward. He was a sorry sight, but the movements of his chest showed that he indeed still lived.

”Well, now. I believe I know this miserable knight.” Loki grinned around the words.

The man's head snapped up. His left eyebrow was split, and the blood had run down the side of his face. The dark eyes grew wide as he recognized Loki, taking in his garments, and the bloodstained dagger in his hand

”Oh, damn it all. You!” Stark groaned. ”I had not thought it possible for this to get any worse.”

”You have the most peculiar way of saying 'thank you', Stark.” 

Loki stepped forward to kneel beside him. Then he slipped his hand in behind the knight's back, found the rope binding his wrists and began working the knots loose, finding them stubborn.

”Loki, what are you doing?”

”And here I thought my intent perfectly clear. Now, hold still.” He lifted his dagger, letting it replace the searching fingers, and had soon cut the knight loose.

Loki stood, backing away. 

”I assume there are more of them?” He could not imagine the two men he had so quickly dispatched being enough to defeat Stark on their own.

”How many have you seen?”

”Two.”

”Three more. They will most likely not be away for much longer. You should leave.”

He should, at that. But as Stark rubbed feeling and movement back into his numb hands, Loki chose to search the camp instead. It was fast work, anyway, as there was not much to find. He still gathered up three full skins of water, some dried fruits and meat, as well as Stark's stolen dagger, still hanging by his belt.

When he returned, the knight was just struggling to get to his feet, wincing and groaning, a hand pressed to his side. Loki saw no blood under his fingers. Most likely a bruised or cracked rib, then. Survivable.

”Yours, I believe.” He offered Stark his possessions.

The man huffed, grabbing the belt and quickly fastening it around his hips.

”This way.” Loki turned to walk back towards the road before the words were fully out of his mouth.

He did not look behind, but after a moment's hesitation he could still hear Stark following him, back to where he had left the two horses.


	20. Illusions

By the time they reached the horses, Stark looked drawn, his face pale under the blood staining it. He was standing slightly hunched to one side, sparing his sore ribs the strain of a straight back. When he saw the animals, he still managed a scowl.

”No.”

Loki went to pack away his meager plunder before he turned to face the knight.

”You would rather carry on by foot?”

In the dark eyes, Loki could see that the man seriously considered this option. Should he say yes, Loki would let him. But then Stark heaved a sigh, or tried to, wincing as the movement hurt his side, and walked over to the other mount.

Loki led the way back onto the road, and they traveled south in a silence that he found himself thinking of as familiar by now.

The sun was barely at its zenith when the silence was broken by a groan.

”Loki.” The knight was clinging to the saddle, knuckles white. ”No more. I must rest.”

There was no need to question his words. Loki knew full well the man would never have spoken up if he had thought himself able to carry on for even one more moment. He simply led them back in among the trees, for shadow and shelter, rolled out the thick blanket that had been fastened behind the knight's saddle, and watched him torture himself by stubbornly refusing any help getting off his horse.

Stark was asleep perhaps before his head even touched the blanket. 

Hours later, he roused with another groan, stiffly sitting himself up. Blinking, he looked around him to find a small fire burning, and one of the skins of water and a rag of cloth placed beside him, alongside the food scavenged from the ruffians. Then he saw Loki, watching him from across the camp, sitting on his own blanket, legs crossed.

”Why?” Stark's voice was rough from sleep. ”Why are you doing this?”

Loki sighed, rolling his eyes. ”You truly need to find better ways of expressing your gratitude.”

”I shall, perhaps, once I find it in me to feel any.” The roughness was not all lingering sleep, this time. ”We were even, Loki.”

”We were.”

”I told you I wished to never lay eyes upon you, ever again.”

”I remember.”

The knight glared. ”Vengeance, then. You are here to torment me.”

”Stark.” Loki felt his growing anger come out of him in a growl. ”Enough. I do not ask for gratitude, truly, but spare me your foolishness. Had I wished for vengeance and torment, I would simply have left you were I found you. Now. Shut your mouth, wash yourself, eat, and then you can be on your way.”

His mouth a thin, harsh line, the knight did as he was told. And when his face was as clean as it could get, the food gone, he got back on his feet. Once more glaring at Loki, he placed a hand on his chest and feigned a bow, managing to make it look exaggerated even though he could not lean into it.

”Well. You have my thanks, your highness.”

”'Loki' will do.” He gave the knight a weary look. ”I am no prince now. Never truly was.”

”What?”

”Does it matter to you?” Loki sighed, letting his eyes slide shut. ”Do you care what title a man has when you will never meet him again?” With his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward to bury his face in his hands, all at once so very, very tired. Sick of it all. ”Be off now, good sir.”

In the silence that followed, Loki waited for the sounds telling him the man was leaving, but they never came. All was quiet.

”'Stark' will do.”

Loki lifted his head from his hands to frown at him.

”I am no knight. No longer.”

”Too many broken vows?” He knew the words were needlessly cruel, but was unable to keep them in.

Stark's face twisted. ”Well, no. In truth, I ceased to be a knight the moment my king perished and my realm fell. Who is there left, to hold me to my vows? There is just me, refusing to believe it to be so. Clinging on to... To...” He faltered, knitting his brow and staring off into the forest.

”To your illusions?”

The man's eyes turned back, shining with unshed tears in the firelight. ”Yes.” The word was broken.

Loki nodded, lowering his head to stare at his hands. ”We all do, Stark. We all do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought this would be the last chapter, but it turns out there was one more...


	21. Real

Moments passed, all quiet but for the soft crackle of the fire, a bird calling in the trees above, the soft snort of a horse.

At last Loki raised his head to look at Stark, and found the man still rooted in place, now staring into the flickering flames by his feet. He waited, but Stark did not move a muscle. With a sigh, Loki unfolded himself, got to his feet, and slowly walked over to him.

”Nothing ought to be keeping you here, Stark.”

”So you would think.” The man was still staring into the fire.

Loki studied the sharp profile. 

”I always thought _you_ were the illusion”, Stark continued, slowly, finding the words as they came out of him. ”Something tricksy and fickle. But you are the only real thing left.”

He finally turned to meet Loki's gaze. ”Are you not?”

Loki thought of red armour in the sharp sunlight. Of a prince riding to war. Things they had both believed in, fought for, been fully prepared to die for. Everything that had made them hate one another. It was all gone now, stripped away, and they were still here. Even though they could not forgive, or forget.

In the frozen, hollow place inside of him, the place that had used to house his heart, he could sense some small measure of warmth.

”I _am_ tricksy, Stark. And fickle. But that makes me no less real.”

Once more, silence.

”Why did you come searching for me? Truly?”

There was no use denying that he had. Loki had known that decision had been made as soon as Frigga asked him about the two saddles.

”Because you are the only real thing left.” His thin lips curled in a wry smile. ”Curse you.”

”And damn you.”

Stark took one step towards Loki then, almost into him.

The kiss began with the old familiar anger; Stark's hand twisted into the hair on the back of his head to force him down and closer, even though their teeth were already clashing. But as the man's other hand came up to cup around Loki's face, something shifted, changed and mellowed. Lips turned softer, yielding.

Loki let his own hands slip into Stark's hair. His mind was no void, not this time. And there was nothing harsh about the way his fingers combed through that hair, feeling the warmth beneath.

When the tip of Stark's tongue touched his lips, Loki could not swallow back his moan. Opening his mouth to let out the almost anguished sound, he also let the man in.

It was a slower, more thoughtful thing they shared this day, than before. Freeing Loki of his leather took its time. Holding on to each other without paining Stark's bruised body required restraint neither of them really had. 

As Stark was kneeling between his legs, his lips tight with the painful movement, Loki put his hands to the man's chest. Stopping him. Stark paused to frown down at him, a worried glint in the dark eyes.

”It will hurt.” Loki traced gentle fingertips over the darkness that was blood under his skin.

”Only fair. It will hurt you, too.”

And it did, at that, but in the end they both found it to be worth the pain.

They lay down to sleep naked that night, for the first time, warm in the thick blankets. As the darkness fell over them, Loki angled his head down to see the man already asleep next to him, a bare, muscular arm draped across Loki's chest. So much darker against his white skin, it was easy to make out the shape of it even in the rapidly fading light. The sleeping face was peaceful, despite the wounded eyebrow and its bruise, the faint traces of dried blood still left on his bearded cheek.

A knight who was no longer a knight. Nothing but fairness and flesh. 

And a prince who was no longer a prince. Nothing but tricks and bones.

All things considered, it might be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so, I suppose this was all just me giving my darling Loki a happy ending.  
> Getting to tell Odin to basically go fuck himself. Telling Frigga he loves her. And then ride off into the proverbial sunset with his knight in shining armour. Minus the actual armour...  
> Hope you enjoyed the ride. I sure did. 
> 
> (And if I know these guys, they are probably up to something. Perhaps I'll get to find out what some day. If I do, I'll let you know, ok?)


End file.
